Page 8 of Voyage with the Reclusive Billionaire

It’s what would come after those secrets that I’m trying to avoid. The fear, the mistrust, the running away. I’ve dealt with it before, when Jade decided my secret was worth a hundred thousand dollars and our love was worth nothing.

It almost ruined me. My business. My everything. It’s the reason I took a step back from everything, hoping that if people could forget that I was the founder, the CEO, my business wouldn’t sink like my reputation did. And it worked. For years now, I’ve been keeping my distance from people in hopes that they’ll forget I even existed.

And it seems to have worked. Eliza doesn’t know who I am, and neither does anyone else I’ve run into on the boat. No one that I’ve come in contact with, anyway, which I can’t say is very many if I’m being honest.

Hell, getting back out there, seeing if I can gently work my way back into the world and not risk everything once again, is the reason I’m here. This is my test pool. A controlled environment with a limited number of people.

And it’s given me hope. A dangerous thing to have, no doubt, but something that has been growing inside of me since I helped Eliza off the deck after her fall, and she looked into my eyes and had no clue who I was.

I might be safe. I might be a nobody now, and I might have a chance to rebuild my reputation and make them forget every harsh word Jade had printed about me.

Several hours after the hike—where I watched Eliza try to nonchalantly walk off a cliff—it’s time for dinner. She's agreed to meet me outside of my room, still unwilling to tell me where hers is. Though I think that might be more about principle at this point than it is about her not trusting me with it.

She’s stubborn. Doesn’t give in easily.

I hate how much I like that.

I’m freshly showered after the humid heat of the hike and have changed into a nice pair of black pants and a plain white tee that's way more expensive than it should be. My hair is still damp when the knock I’ve been waiting for, even as I tried to get myself to chill the fuck out and have a little patience, sounds at the door.

I pull it open two heartbeats later. Not really playing it cool, I know, but I don’t give two shits about that. She’s only supposed to be in my life for a week. It shouldn’t matter if she thinks I’m a clingy bastard or not.

And yet.

I take a moment to process everything that is Eliza in this moment. Sunkissed long legs beneath a floral sundress. Simple woven sandals. A polite, almost nervous, smile and her hair pulled back in a messy bun that somehow manages to look perfectly done. Isn’t the purpose of them to look like shit? If so, why does it look so damn good on her, with tendrils of soft brown hair framing her face?

Her skin is still glowing with the warmth of time spent in the sun, and by looking at her, I wouldn’t ever have imagined that she had a near-death experience just a handful of hours ago. Or that she laughed about it a few moments later.

“Hello,” Eliza says softly, giving me the most gentle of smiles. I wonder if she’s expecting me to reject her again. And I don’t really blame her for thinking that, either. I saw her last night, then made an attempt to ignore her the next time I saw her. Then I saw her again.

She expects another shoe to drop. I need to show her that I’m serious about this… cruise-ship friendship.

Not at all a confusing topic.

“Hello, Eliza,” I reply, fighting the urge to trail my eyes over her body. To imagine it undressed. Beneath my hands. On top of my bed. Under my body.

Fucking stop. I bite down on my tongue as I smile at her, physically punishing myself for thinking about her like that. Can’t happen. Won’t happen. This is a week-long thing. Fucking it up and making it more complicated with sex wouldn’t be a great idea. Or even a good one. Or even a mediocre one.

Point is, that would be the worst thing I could possibly do to myself. I already like her too—

The thought strikes me too quickly to completely ignore. But ignoring it wouldn’t change the facts—I do like her, don’t I? She’s funny and stubborn and sometimes even hot-tempered. And kind, and beautiful, and smart. And so far out of my league that it’s almost laughable. But it’s been so long since I’ve liked anyone—in any capacity—that I just want to sink into the feeling. I want to absorb it, drown in it.

And hell, maybe I will. Who is it going to hurt but me?

We’re seated with two couples at a round wooden table, our plates stacked with food and glasses filled with wine.

Eliza’s body is a warm, secure weight beside mine. Which is something I desperately fucking need and heavily rely on when the guy across from me, who introduced himself as Ryker, tilts his head at me and asks, “Am I crazy, or do you look familiar?”

His fiance, Sylvie, narrows her eyes at me, studying, before shrugging and saying. “You do look a little familiar.”

I’m more rigid than I’ve ever been in my life, but trying not to show it.

And I know that Eliza notices. I know because she clasps a gentle hand over mine under the table, soothes it with her thumb once, and says, “It’s probably just because he looks like the kind of person who would be a celebrity.”

A giggle from Sylvie. “The ones that are so good-looking they become models.”

Ryker gapes at her, but there’s a grin hiding under his wide-mouthed expression. “I’m the one who’s going to marry you, Syl. And you’ve never once said I looked like a model.”

“Oh, come on,” Sylvie says, a wide grin on her face. “You’re hot. You know that.”

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